All over but the shouting

In a recent column you readers heard about our trip to Idaho. Like Paul Harvey’s broadcasts, though, there is always more to the story. And, here’s mine.

Seeing that we were already going to be far West-West-West of the Mississippi, the Rockies and everything holy while we were in Pocatello, Trixie started hinting about a side trip out to California to retrieve a “few items” that were left in a storage unit in San Francisco.

Now, to get to that shining jewel of a State on the West Coast, one can quickly summarize that it is not a Sunday afternoon drive to see grandma. No sireee Bob, just like with the Pioneers on the famed Oregon Trail of old, this is a full blown excursion filled with pitfalls and hazards.

Things like gasoline prices ($4.59/gal), overpriced motels and bumper-to-bumper traffic are the modern day problems this old tightwad experienced. There were times I would have preferred some wagon circling savages of old rather than facing this modern day west coast adventure.

But, go we did. And, once in California, we were finally able to access her valuable items.

Somehow in the interim period between storage of said items and now picking them up, they had been breeding and multiplying in her container pod and she had a bit of what can only be described as a meltdown. Now, that is sight to behold especially when you are the significant other of a quite significant woman.

A groan went up from the crowd – me – as I despaired that we’d ever fit everything into the cargo trailer we had. Eventually, we persuaded all those treasures to submit to occupancy and we began our arduous journey home.

Our first stop on the return trip was Laughlin, Nevada for a quick overnight. This is a great gambling mecca on the Colorado River and while not as hot as hell it’s a close cousin. Being, Trixie, she was able to get a great rate on a fantastic room and when Ol' Dutch paid the bill she commented in true womanly fashion, “look how much we saved!”

For two days, we covered 1200 miles while dragging 6200 pounds of priceless books about Yoga, California Cuisine and Travel-In-Places-Without-Flushing-Toilets before arriving back safely to the San Luis Valley.

Now, Trixie being one of those clever female types, had somehow hornswoggled me in bringing all of her worldly possessions home just hours before bow elk season started.

My first day afield searching for our winter food, I came home to find the entire house uprooted and all of my things moved out of where they had been stored. Talk about a devious plan!

As a bachelor, Ladies, you must understand we men want our things to be where we want them, which is usually the last place we laid them down. This works out very well as it keeps us from getting a disease known as “hunting season interruptus.”

Along the way, eventually some desperate female sees potential in this messy man and is able to convince him that he can keep his stuff if he simply puts it up out of the way, preferably in the garage. And, even that works well for a while as he now has an excuse to spend more and more time out in the garage on “projects” which often involve copious amounts of lubricants marked “Coors.”

Beware, ye bachelors out there, this process has a timeframe of, given Ol’ Dutch’s most recent experiences, about three years.

After three years of male messiness, Trixie and I have had the “talk.” I have now come to the “understanding” that I really don’t “need” all that stuff causing a mess inside our living quarters and it’s going into deep storage as we speak.

Since we travel in an RV, there’s no garage where she can send me. There is, however, a large cargo bay where I keep my manly stuff and although Trixe has been hinting about a good place to store all of her hiking things and sports gear, I have the only cargo bay key and am hiding it under the mattress.